Tag: james wadman

A dream on the night of 08/12/2017

By James Wadman

In the city, it is believable that the sky we see is merely a curtain of haze permeated by only our closest celestial neighbors. In August, we see Jupiter rise first and Saturn closest to the moon. As the nights get darker, we will see the big dipper pointing toward the north star. Dominant is the amber glow cast by streetlights and industries that never sleep. It is as if the night sky we see in the city is more so a reflection of ourselves and the decision we made to turn inward, rather than gazing through our window to the universe above.

In my dream, I followed a map to where the trees cleared and the sky revealed the moon, the animated stars, and the dust of our galaxy. It was apparent that I was not in the city

“Stand here,” I was told, seeing only a man’s finger pointing to a spot on the map.

I took one more step forward. The sky darkened into a nearly colorless shade of blue. The stars became brighter, perhaps even closer. It was then that I remembered what the man had told me about this place on the map:

“Here you will see what is undeniably the night sky.”

He was right: I could see into the universe as if I was witnessing the birth of stars with the naked eye. I could see our galaxy breathe, the dust coalescing into pink and golden stars. I saw the moon, the planets, even the nebulas, as if they were just out of my fingers’ reach.

I sat there for a moment before I noticed clouds began to form on the distant horizon. It began to snow and the sky was colored by the familiar amber glow of city lights.

There is no deeper meaning here, except to say that the universe is out there.

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By James Wadman

Many people doubt our significance in this vast universe, and for good reason. I discuss this subject on and off from different attitudes because it is important to weigh both our significance and insignificance when making important decisions in life. My overall opinion on the matter is no secret, and has remained relatively constant for the last few years: I think of the entire spectrum of conscious, human life on earth with the analogy of a raindrop on its descent to the ground. If some tiny world in this raindrop suddenly gained consciousness, does it have any effect on the storm? No, it will simply carry on its transient journey until it becomes a splash in a puddle.

Insignificant, yes. Grim even, perhaps. However, something occurred to me the other day that fits into this narrative and provides a bit of hope to the tiny world on its descent to the ground. Consider a timeless piece of music — Beethoven’s 5th comes immediately to mind, not a symphony I particularly love but one that is incredibly meaningful to our world. Society seldom questions its cosmic significance because its value to mankind is indisputable. Therefore, Beethoven’s 5th has unquestionable value, and this will remain true for the entire existence of humanity.

So I ask those of you who interpreted the raindrop analogy as grim, does the fate of the raindrop matter if our tiny world carries its own significance throughout the descent? We derive meaning not from where we are going, but through the value in our lives at every moment getting there. Just as no one doubts the significance of Beethoven’s 5th to humankind, no one doubts their own significance in life when they are actually out there living.

I unearthed a quote from my novel, Diamondis, recently that captures my opinion on this perfectly:

“The realization of our meaningless can be told in a word, a sentence at the most. Our story rarely revolves around the realization itself. However, the descent to this realization is lush with poetry. The beauty is the descent.”

This quote comes from a discussion between the main characters, Tomas and Julia, trying to debunk the perceived meaninglessness of life by nihilistic philosophers. So there — my views on our insignificance are in fact very optimistic. I like to live lightly and make decisions based on the immediate happiness of myself and my loved ones. And, just a bit of off-topic advice to go along with this, it is always important to find the balance between the aforementioned “immediate happiness” and what will provide you with lasting happiness. When making big decisions in life, ask yourself, will this bring me happiness now? Then, will this bring me happiness for days to come? People often neglect one of the two questions — if you can’t answer yes to both, you might want to dig harder for the opportunity.

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“What gives us hope in life is the sense that love is not found in predictable symmetry or straight edges. The closest we can get to perfection are the moments we can’t put into words, but can still feel when nothing is left.”

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It was any ordinary day. I go to work, I try to admire the world and others, I do my best. I was working on writing an exam for my job in the chemistry program at the university when my vision began to fade. At first I thought nothing of this. Growing up with syncope, lapses of consciousness were not unfamiliar occurrences to me. However, this time it was sustained and came with a harsher, prolonged separation from reality. I thought I might be in trouble, so I ran to find someone.

I pleaded to the first person I found to call an ambulance in shaky, inarticulate words as I fell to the ground. My eyes were closing, but I told myself I only needed to breathe. I might fall asleep on the ground of a university hallway, but I would wake up at the destination of the ambulance that was en route to save me. And sure enough, I did.

I woke up in a hospital bed beside overjoyed family members, none of whom I recognized. A man took my hand and I was surprised at how his hand engulfed mine, as if he were a giant with a friendly face. When he moved closer I could see in the reflection of the window that I was not myself — or at least not who I was before the fall. I was a child and this was my father. My life, the life of James Wadman, the neurobiologist, chemistry specialist, writer, and musician was the dream of a young boy in the midst of his chemotherapy treatment.

I was still looking in my reflection in the window when the world faded again. This time, I woke up in bed at home.

When the clock runs out of time, I learned that it is a blessing to have lived at all.

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Diamondis is a love story that begins at the moment of a man’s untimely death. With the secondhand on the clock poised in space, Tomas revisits the moments in his life that inspire the creation of his “afterlife.” While I deal with dark issues such as death, mental illness, and heartbreak, I leave the reader with a sense of optimism and a reason to cherish the love that exists before and after life.

Tomas Stanton, a neuroscientist at Cornell, collapses the day before he leaves for New York City to begin a life in a lab coat. He learns that he has an inoperable brain tumor, but he will survive for as long as it remains in place. Shortly after moving to the city, Tomas gives up his career in medical research to write a reflection on his pending mortality. Tomas meets a woman named Julia on the streets of New York City, who takes a sudden interest in his story. Just as soon as they fall in love, Tomas learns that his brain tumor has metastasized and he is given one year to live. In that year, Julia takes Tomas to the west coast to say goodbye to an old friend who played a key role in his memoir.

I am proud to say that my novel, Diamondis, is finished. The road ahead will be determined by the logistics of its release. I want to do some creative personal projects and collaborations between now and the release, so stay tuned. If you have any questions or a burning desire to preview my work, please send me an email at jimmy.wadman@gmail.com

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